


LampBlack Wings

by LealAlchemical



Series: Wings and Flyte [11]
Category: Septimus Heap - Angie Sage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Discord shenanigans, Drabble, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, My next fic will be happier I promise, Wing Grooming, it's fairly minor and applies to wings but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LealAlchemical/pseuds/LealAlchemical
Summary: LampBlack- Black pigment obtained through the burning of oil and other substances.Darkeness sticks, it clings like tar and soot. Broken wings don't always heal straight.
Relationships: Lucy Gringe/Simon Heap
Series: Wings and Flyte [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991479
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	LampBlack Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Another content warning for self-harming behaviors, it's just pulling feathers and contemplation but I don't want to mess anyone up. I've been there, I want you to stay safe.
> 
> These Sad Simon Hours brought to you by Discord. Where somebody hits the angst button and it all snowballs from there (Hi guys. Love you.)

Simon sat, alone, and tired in the room he had taken to staying in since his move to the Observatory. He would sleep but he had one last thing to do.

He picked gently through the feathers on his wings, smoothing them and pulling away the loose ones. His good wing was simple, he did as he had always done before and it was good enough. His bad wing, however, was a different story.

He had avoided cleaning it, the pain that shot through it whenever he moved was enough of a deterrent to keep his hands away, but he couldn't stand the sight of the rumpled feathers any longer.

It had been broken, brutally so, while he was captured at his attempted wedding with Lucy. Whether accidentally or on purpose, the swift, too tight binding had set the hollow bones in such a way he had trouble extending it. Even stretched out it was weak and shaky, nothing he could ever dream of using again. Even as it was reset the best be could hope for now was a pathetic glide.

Despite, or maybe because of, the pain he jerked his wing roughly into a position where he could reach most of it. As he raked his fingers through, pulling harshly at some of the more damaged bits of offending plumage, he froze.

Simon's fingers hovered over the dark patch. It was a sooty color, matte, and dirty looking but though he rubbed the feathers and tried to clean them with a damp cloth then stain stubbornly refused to budge.

There it was. A symbol of the  **_Darke_ ** he was learning, a stain directly over the poorly healed breaks. It was almost hidden by his (often folded) wing but soon it began to spread, and other inky, sooty soot streaks washed down his wings as he learned and strode further into the path he had chosen.

They weren't completely black, as far as he was willing to go to follow DomDaniel's wishes the coloring stubbornly stayed in it's rough streaks and patches. The matte quality of it made him feel like they looked like he had rubbed them in coal and ashes. Maybe it bothered him, maybe he had nightmares of being trapped in a sticky black tar that tore at his wings, maybe he had tried to rip out entire clumps of the mess just to find they grew back that way.

Maybe he felt ashamed when he saw Septimus's wings, their colors further illuminated by a shimmering iridescence that showed the magic that flooded his very essence. 

_ 'At least I have both of mine'  _ he'd think ' _ At least nobody can see  _ _ my  _ _ weakness.'  _ Another unsatisfactory feather would float to the ground. His brother was only missing part of his wing, a result of similar bindings while in the Young Army. Both were likely just as poorly maintained.

Sometimes Simon wondered how long it would take for all of the feathers to grow back if he just ripped all of the plumage from his skin. Not like he really needed them anyway, not like they worked properly. But he didn’t. One part of him couldn’t be bothered and the other had fond memories of Lucy patiently brushing and combing the feathers.

One day he held that small, simple arrow that was proclaimed to be the Flyte Charm. He had once thought it stupid, why create a charm to fly when you already have wings? Maybe it made sense now. 

Broken as it was, he could at least pretend.

Then _he_ ruined everything. Again. Between that little imposter, the cuckoo that destroyed the nest, and all the other cast members of that escapade he had not only pushed his family further away but had also lost **_Flyte_** once again. 

But there was still Lucy. He still had something at least.


End file.
